More
by Oz2121
Summary: Short suspense story. A burnt-out paramedic stumbles upon something evil waiting in the darkness.


I have seen unspeakable things in my life. My job requires it. I've been witness to the aftermath of the most depraved acts of man- brutality, cruelty and neglect. But always as an outsider. A voyeur witnessing the aftershock, riding the wake of horror and pain to a happily ever after or the ultimate end. Before I began my career I was jealous of those with misfortune in their lives. It made them strong, they would claim, made them know what they were capable of. I went searching for that knowledge for myself, purposely putting myself where I knew I could find tragedy, deceiving myself that watching suffering gave me the same fortitude as those that suffered. What a joke. I never considered myself lucky to have never been a part of the violent twisted deed itself. Secretly, I was envious that I missed the excitement. Until now. I no longer covet their scars. I have a scar of my own.

Most people believe it to be glamorous. Angels riding to the rescue, blue and red lights flickering through the darkness, a siren singing out to desperate souls lost in pain and terror 'do not fear, we are coming for you, you are safe.' I admit it's why I applied for the job- the glory. But there was no glory, no glamour. It was the human species reduced to their basest parts- the nauseating stench of bile and vomit, the hard metallic smell of blood. The ammonia of urine mixed with the foul air of faeces as they pissed and shit themselves in terror. Abuse, isolation, violence and fear. I would lie awake tortured by the memories of those I tried to save, their cries for help, for their mother as they lay dying. I would see them writhing in agony as I tried desperately to be the hero they needed. I was haunted by those I could not save; a gruesome movie reel of bloodied, mangled bodies, their death masks forever frozen in my mind. And by the end, I could not care, I couldn't afford to, there was nothing left, I was just a robot following algorithms with no thoughts of my own. Abiding by rules calculated by laws of probability and survival, procedures set by some chump behind a desk a hundred miles away, safe and warm.

Now I am haunted by a new face. I see him standing over me and I marvel at the sickness that resides in my soul. A sickness that brought me to this place.

I did everything right. I remember calling out into the dark hallway as I always did. 'Hello, this is the Ambulance.' Don't panic, I've come to save you. The answering voice was just a muffled sound, lost somewhere in the black, beyond the reach of the street lights. I dumped some of my burden in the doorway, jarring it open as I was trained to do. 'Always ensure your exit', my instructor drummed into us a thousand times and probably a thousand more times that I didn't hear because I was too busy daydreaming of my glorious superhero future. I flicked the light switch to my left and heard the sizzle and then a pop echo down the corridor, as the light blew out. Swearing under my breath, I pulled my little mag light from a pouch in my beltkit and tapped it a few times against the palm of my hand before it sprung to life, barely lighting what should have been the cavernous space of the hall. I swept the light from side to side, illuminating what was more of an overcrowded junk yard storage room than a hallway. The cramped walls were made of piles of newspapers, stacked to the roof and the rotting smell of old print hit me as I stepped around a children's red wagon, covered in cobwebs. I made my way carefully down the hall until an almost inaudible wheeze of breath to my right caught my attention. I looked too late to dodge the dark body that hurtled into me, slamming me into the opposing room, sprawling onto the floor in a cloud of rank dust and dander. My radio, that I had always despised due to its cumbersome weight and bulky size; that pulled my overalls down and caused the collar of my ill-fitting uniform to rub irritatingly at my neck, caught on the doorjamb and fell with a thud to the floor. I landed like a sack of flour in the floor, the torch flying from my hands falling behind some furniture. I felt the black body landing heavily on top of me, pinning me to the ground. I struggled and managed to roll onto my back, with exceptional bad timing. The shadowy figure brought down a knife right into my gut. I gasped as it sliced through my flesh and tore back out, ripping open my abdomen, its serrations pulling my insides out as it went. My eyes fought to focus as my hands flailed uselessly in the air, trying to get a hold of the figure, to push it away from me as the blade sliced into my core again and again. As suddenly as it began the attack stopped, I felt the weight pinning my body down shift as the figure leaned back casually to sit on my pelvis. My trembling fingers went to the gaping wound in my abdomen. I tried to push some of my own shredded intestines back inside me but they slipped through my bloody fingers. Giving up I settled on pushing down on my stomach, hoping to staunch the flow of blood I could feel spilling out and rolling down my sides to pool on the weathered, grimy floorboards beneath me. My vision blurred, adrenaline and shock leaving me numb as I watched my attacker calmly pat his pockets, searching for a pack of cigarettes while he hummed an unsettling tune to himself. He located the box in his breast pocket and removed one cigarette from amongst its compatriots, staining the white paper red with my blood. Then he struck a match. The tiny little flame flickered to life revealing the details his hideous face. A burn scar ran from inside his hairline down his throat below the neckline of his t-shirt. But something was wrong. The scar that should have been pink and white tissue was outlined with a fine network of black blood vessels visible beneath his paper thin skin. The black web of veins seemed to pulsate in time with his haunting song. He saw me studying his face in horror and his contented half smile twisted up, distorted by the scar tissue, giving him a manic lope-sided grin as he leaned in to stare directly in my wide eyes. He maintained eye contact as he reached out, wiped his blade clean on the grimy red velvet fabric of the couch cushion beside him. He pushed my hands aside, pinning one beneath each of his knees and the look in his black eyes told me something horrifying was yet to come. I watched in petrified revulsion as he grabbed the hair at the top of his scar and pulled the blade down his face, slicing deep into the web of black vessels. Blood, glistening jet black in the dim light, oozed from his cut and he leaned back, allowing the putrid smelling liquid to drip into my abdominal cavity. My hands flailed under his weight, trying to free themselves to stop him infecting me with his blood. But I couldn't move. His fingers reached inside me, working like the most skilled tailor and I screamed as he threaded his poison right through me, feeling his fingers work from my abdomen down to my spine. I could feel myself letting go and I welcomed it. Black dots passed before my eyes but then I felt the weight lifted off me. My attacker lifted himself onto the couch, sat back and casually crossed his legs. He seemed so calm and relaxed, smoking by the faint street light streaming in through the window. My thoughts turned to my partner. Where was he? Why wasn't he coming to save me? To be my hero, as I had been for so many others? Then I heard it, the gurgling whimpers from outside. He heard it too. He grunted in annoyance, stepped over me and strode purpose-filled from the room, my blood dripping from his hands in a trail of glistening beads, breadcrumbs on the floorboards. I dragged myself upright, leaning against the lounge suite where the man had just been, trying to look for anything that might save me. Then I saw it. A little red eye glowing faintly by the doorway. I toppled over and clawed my way over to it- my radio. Afraid to speak lest it draw his attention I turned down the volume and pressed the orange duress button. I propped myself against the doorframe, listening impotently to my partner dying at the hands of a monstrous stranger. At last the sounds of struggle died down and I heard the last gasp of air escape from my partner's mouth and I knew he was gone. Free. Jealousy overtook me. How dare he die and leave me alone with this cruel, brutal creature. I waited for the sound of the monster's feet returning for me. All the while, I viciously cursed my crewmate for dying on me. Like it was his fault. My anger sustained me, kept me from drowning beneath the waves of unconsciousness that threatened to swallow me down into its murky depths. In my rage, I didn't notice the red and blue lights streaming in from beyond the garden getting brighter and multiplying. My eyes drew closed as a half dozen torch lights scanned to and fro across the untamed garden. I barely heard them as they shouted 'This one's dead' or moments later when another panick stricken voice shouted 'I found another, she's alive.' I never saw the faces of the angels that came to save me, I didn't feel their arms lift me up and carry me away. The first clear memory I had was the flickering fluorescent lights blinding me as I was wheeled through the emergency department and into the lift to theatre.

I woke in agony, my pulse pounding in my gut, a foreign yet powerful rhythm threatening to rip open my carefully sutured wound. I screamed from the pain, my voice echoing in the sterile sparsely furnished hospital room. The sound bounced off the walls making it seem like the cry of another. Medical staff streamed into my room, three nurses pounced on me to stop me from clawing at myself as I tried but failed to rip the bandages from my stomach to release the creature that surely must have been trying to tear its way free of me from the inside out. 'Get it out. GET IT OUT!' I'd never heard my voice so shrill, so full of panic. I was so over-trained, so numbed out from years as a paramedic that I had never experienced the emotion before. I thrashed against my captors and felt the stitches ripping through my skin as my wound tore open. I was so relieved by the thought of my wound gaping open that I didn't register the prick in my arm as the doctor drove the needle home and plunged a sedative into my system. As I floundered and succumbed to the drug I heard the doctor say words like 'delerium' and 'sepsis' and my last thought was I hope the infection kills me. I floated away into darkness as my heart rate beeped quietly on the monitor, sounding out the strange rhythm, a tune I had only heard once before.

I woke again and again in the same way. I heard my scream pierce through the silence of the critical care unit, I clawed and fought against my restraints, then they would pumped me full of sedative, only to begin again once the drug had worn off. Rinse, repeat. No matter the pain relief they pumped into my system the throbbing never eased, the infected vessels spreading across my abdomen in an all too familiar black spiderweb. I lived in my fever dreams, reliving the nightmare over and over only to awake to my living nightmare. Time meant nothing to me anymore.

In the few brief moments of pain-riddled awareness I remember many pathetic thoughts. The last one I can recall was asking myself if I wanted to survive this. In the darkness of my hospital room someone leaned over me, their breath hot in my ear. I must have spoken aloud and the nurse had heard me. I wished he would hurry up and dose me, I didn't know how much longer I could choke on the screams building in my chest, burgeoning to get out.

Low and melodic his voice pierced through the opiate induced fog in my brain. 'You will survive this. Come to me.' I felt a heavy hand rake across my stomach the pulsating worsened, like the infection inside me was reaching out towards the beast hovering above me. His other hand closed fast around my throat cutting off the scream before it began. 'There, there, my darling.' His fingers swirled around my torso, as he addressed not me but the fine black web of my infection. My skin strained as the vessels lifted towards his loving caress. His hand pushed down with all his weight and I felt the infection disperse throughout my body, rippling outward to every cell. The lack of oxygen claimed me and gratefully I slipped into darkness once again.

Two hours later I woke free from pain but with the strange pulsating sensation deep within what felt like every fibre of my body. The lines that marked the infection on my abdomen were gone, the fever had broken. The doctors called it a good outcome and cooed about how no infection could stand forever against modern medicine, especially in a healthy adult. The nurses whispered about a miracle. But I knew better.

I was discharged the next morning with a paper bag bursting with their miracle antibiotics. I rode the southwest line bus home, the throbbing in my head increasing as the miles sped by. I got home to a fridge filled with mouldy, foul smelling leftovers and chunky soured milk. I tried to go to the supermarket just four blocks west of my pitiful apartment but as I turned towards the setting sun my headache threatened to put me on my arse. The pain almost palpable in my throbbing temples, the surgical wound on my abdomen mirroring the severity of my head. Defeated, I spun on my heel and a sudden pull thrust me forward, nearly toppling me face forward into the dirt of the flower bed that lined the downstairs lobby entrance. Instantly my headache eased but as I righted myself and turned to the lobby doors the shockwave hit again, flinging my body into the east wall of the doorway. My pain eased again. East, my body demanded. Twice I tried to turn back but the pain rose up to unbearable levels so I kept walking, stumbling into the growing darkness as the sun set behind me. With every step I felt the black infection in my body pulling me forward, the lines in my skin rising back up to the surface of my stomach, forming a raised pattern in the folds of my shirt as the wind blew against me as if to hold me back from my destination. A shadow crept into my vision. I knew where I was going.

I found myself in the overgrown garden of the house, just as dark and foreboding as I remembered. I stole inside, barely making a sound. I stepped into the room where I had been brutally cut open and there he stood, his feet planted firmly on the red wine stained wood, the exact spot he had bleed into me. I looked into his black eyes knowing they mirrored my own and suddenly I felt strong, fearless, out of control. I strode toward him and stopped less than a foot from his face. The evil creature of my nightmares didn't even flinch as I reached up and stroked his black-scarred face. The excruciating ache in my belly stopped and I felt a ripple under my shirt, beneath my scarred skin. I felt his black veins pulsating in time with the webbed vessels that now spread across my abdomen, the strange song that he had hummed that night rising in my throat. The creature pushed my hand against his scarred cheek and whispered one word.

'More.' Yes, more I thought. I knew then why I had sought out the pain of other peoples suffering. I had always been drawn to the darkness. I had been drawn to this time, this place. Every decision had taken me here. I needed this, I wanted this. I wanted more. Whatever dark master I had lost my soul to demanded it of me; of us both. Our slave selves so eager to please that we would seek out more without mercy or remorse. Hand and hand we walked from the ram shackled house to find more victims to feed the pulsating hunger of our tainted black blood, our new Master.


End file.
